Lily

I stared sleepily out the window of the deserted common room. The weather was nice and it was early in the morning, meaning hardly any students were up, so I decided to grab one of my favorite books and head outside. I took in a breath of fresh morning air as I slowly walked across the silent grounds over to my favorite beech tree on the lake shore. Clutching my book I slid down the back of the tree into a sitting position. I let my gaze drift around the grounds. The morning dew was till wet on the untouched grass and the early morning sun light reflected off the lake. I even could have sworn I saw a quick whip of a tentacle.

I sighed and looked down at the cover of Reflections, running a hand down the spine. It was a book of poems, written by any and all sorts of people, muggle people, about their thoughts on life. Not even bothering to open the book since I knew all the poems by heart I leaned my head against the tree and began to reflect on a couple of things going on in my life.

Like graduation.

It's my seventh year at Hogwarts. When exactly did this happen? Just yesterday I was the scared little red head muggle born shaking violently as an old black hat was jammed on my head. It always brings a smirk to my face when I remember my eleven year old self thinking of all things to decide where we would reside for the next seven years of our lives the founders of Hogwarts picked an old, ragged hat. Why not do something more extravagant, like in the Sword and the Stone? Pulling a sword out of stone to determine something, in Arthur's case that he would be king, seemed much more exciting than putting on an old hat. "Not exciting, eh?" the hat said, a bit taken aback. "Name another time you've come across a talking hat! Although, your sword idea is interesting. I doubt that half you lot would be able to even lift a sword though." Grinning at the hat's response (and my reaction to the response), I looked back on the rest of my years at Hogwarts. A young, shy red head during my first and second years, a bit more outgoing in my third, bossy and sassy in my fourth and fifth, and maturing into a woman in my sixth. Now I'm seventeen, and confused. Nothing seems to be making sense anymore.

Like James.

I don't know what the Merlin has gotten into me lately. Maybe his deflated ego, or his charming smile I'm seeming to just now notice, or maybe it's those hazel eyes I always get lost in. Whatever it is, I'm captivated by it. And it's driving me insane. This is James Potter we're talking about! But there's something different about this James. New James. New James is nice and sweet and even somewhat polite, although he still acts like a seventeen year old boy. He doesn't curse and hex first years, and he's actually trying to do well on his school work. And his ego has deflated. I closed my eyes and sighed once more, picturing James and I walking around the lake together, hand in hand, something I definately would not be doing this time last year. A smile grew on my face as I imagined James sitting down next to me, saying what he always did when he first saw me ("Hey Evans") in the soft, manly voice saved just for me. I leaned my head on his shoulder and opened my eyes, wishing it was real.

Now I truly know what they mean by the saying be careful what you wish for.

"Bloody hell James!" I screamed, standing up lightning fast. To my horror, there he was, sitting down centimeters from where I just was, decked in his Quidditch uniform, his arm still in the air where it had seconds ago been around my shoulders.

"What?!" he asked, confused. I guess he would be, one minute my head's on his shoulder, one minute I'm ripping him a new one. Hell, just my head on his shoulder would be confusing to him. Pleasant, but confusing.

"Don't what me! How dare you sneak up on me like that! Of all the nerve!" I snapped.
"You're the one who put your head on my shoulder! I was just, you know, following your lead," James said sheepishly.

"James Potter!" I exclaimed. Glaring at him I snatched up my book and stalked off towards the castle.

"You know you liked it Evans!" he shouted after me.

Fuming, I made my way up to the common room and hissed the password at the Fat Lady (who was very unhappy about my tone of voice, might I add), and up to my dorm, slamming the door behind me. By this time all of my roomates were down at breakfast, so I walked over to the window and sulked alone.

I wasn't really mad at James. Not in the least bit. I was mad at myself. Embarrassed. Flustered. How had he known I was thinking about him? Could he read minds? Emotions? Wishes? I can't believe I put my head on his shoulder! Why did I do that?

Because you love him, a small voice in the back of my mind whispered.

Then why did I pull away?

Because you're scared he doesn't love you back, the small voice said.

But he does, he has since first year! I'm the one who's been awful to him!

But maybe, the voice said, after seven years of constantly hearing "Eat dung, Potter!", he's starting to give up.

I stared out the window and watched James hoist his broom over his back and begin to walk around the lake, kicking pebbles and sticks in his path angrily. The scene started to get blurry as I took the sleeve of my sweater up to my eyes, wiping them briskly.

What if the voice is right?

I stopped for a minute and thought.

Voice...?

Shit. I really am going insane.